


Of Soft Things and Light

by swankypickle



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Blood/Violence Mention, Breathplay, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Hate Sex, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Weird power dynamic ramblings, kind of, merry late christmas folks, right??, they are both trash so be prepared for some sin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-09 17:37:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5549405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swankypickle/pseuds/swankypickle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hux is grey walls and tight, impersonal air, but Kylo is the type of cold that burns.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Soft Things and Light

**Author's Note:**

> *jumps headfirst into the garbage chute*

He’s nothing more than a petulant child pushing into people’s heads. 

Just a child throwing a tantrum. His tantrums are with fire and ferocity and a lack of restraint, but they are tantrums nonetheless. 

His face betrays him. That’s what happens when you get too comfortable with masks. You become vulnerable, everything encapsulated in your mind playing out plainly in your features. Every twist of your lips, every uneasy swallow, everything. 

Hux _knows_ this. 

He also knows of the power that stews beneath that face, rubbed raw at the edges. The determination to destroy every last fleck of light, to crush it under boots and crumble away any memory of it, decimate even the slightest whisper of the possibility of its existence. In some ways it was commendable--to come from the light only to fall into the shadows.  
_Or, perhaps, to have one foot still lingering in the light. Standing in the dusk, neither here nor there._ There is something halfway poetic about that. Poetry is for fools, regardless. Reckless, dangerous fools. 

Kylo’s dedicated, he has to give him that. He’s a different type of cold than Hux. Hux is grey walls and tight, impersonal air, but Kylo is the type of cold that _burns._ The ultimate lack of control, broken beams toppling down, of rash decisions and desolation due to unbridled emotion. They are their fathers, as much as Kylo refuses to accept that. 

The light is there. 

Hux can _taste_ the light, in that little give of lips, of the softness layered beneath. It is honeyed and feather light and _disgusting_ , he thinks, as he pushes deeper into the kiss, filling Kylo’s mouth with tongue and _oh,_ there comes a soft rumble at the base of his throat and _oh,_ the honey begins to thrum into the kiss.

Kylo could kill him. 

_A hand, dragging out his last breath before dropping him on the floor, just to be jettisoned out of the ship like all the rest of the waste.  
He wonders how it would feel, to gasp for air that would never come._

This is the thought that holds him as he pushes Kylo down into the cot. He could bite down, bloody Kylo’s lips—they’ve done it before, blood filling each other’s mouths, until the kissing becomes painful and Kylo tumbles Hux underneath him. Spit and copper and teeth (he can’t taste the light then, the copper is too strong and rage is everything being shoved into his mouth).  
He doesn’t bite. Not this time. The light tastes too good, too perverse now. He thinks of Kylo killing him again _(breath gets stuck in your throat and you drown)_ while lapping up that light, slowly, making this soft. He needs this to stick, to hurt. When his hand slides up to grasp at Kylo’s neck it is an unconscious action. Kylo doesn’t toss him off immediately, his eyes don’t even open, and Hux delights in the weakness, amid all that power, all that strength. 

He tightens his grip, waiting for Kylo to throw him off.

Nothing.

It’s odd, and Hux draws back from the kiss to look at him. Kylo’s eyes finally open. For a moment (just a moment), there is no calculation, no rage. He looks so _young._

 _Messy, dirty blood._ Disgust catches in Hux’s throat. He wonders how Ben Solo must have tasted. Before, when the light was pure and unfiltered. 

And suddenly Hux _has_ to rip his gloves off, _has_ to feel Kylo’s throat beneath his fingers. Kylo’s skin is warm and Hux’s fingers wrap around it, feeling the quick give of breath against his palm. 

Kylo grunts under the pressure and Hux smiles. He loosens his hold just a bit (so that he can better lean down to taste the ruddiness of Kylo’s light again). Kylo responds eagerly, pushing up into Hux’s kiss (his hands). More, he wants more, and Hux acquiesces, moving his free hand down to the front of Kylo’s trousers, pushing past the cumbersome robes to rub at his cock through the fabric _(you blubber around a nonexistent hand, heat building up behind your eyes and everything is metal-bile-red)._ Kylo whines, a moan clamoring out of his mouth and reverberating against Hux’s hand. There are freckles on Kylo’s neck and Hux thinks about dying _(make this soft make it sweet make it hurt)._

He kisses Kylo’s jaw, feeling the rattle of a swallow. Hux keeps his grip firm on Kylo’s neck, tightening and loosening and rolling digits over all the freckles, the scattered moles. Kylo arches up, groans. _Good._ Hux cups at Kylo’s cock again, slowly working his hand up and down. 

“Stop this.” Kylo’s voice is weak and his eyes are simmering fury glazed over in uneasy pleasure. “Stop toying with me.” The words are faint, and Hux doesn’t know _(doesn’t care)_ if he really means them.

“What is it, darling?” Rubs a finger over the quivering Adam’s apple. He can feel the smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. Kylo could kill him. Throw him across the room and destroy his mind, pick it apart and turn him into a gibbering mess. It is Hux’s turn to swallow. A knot of arousal settles in the pit of his stomach and Kylo’s eyes are turned at him _(the pressure is your last memory, before the world fuzzes down into an indeterminable shape and you implode)_. Wetting his lips, he finally undoes the fastenings on Kylo’s trousers.

Kylo’s so warm. Always. Flame upon flame (a sun being siphoned out). Hux wraps his hand around Kylo’s cock and feels a sense of comfort when those damnable eyes fall closed again. Kylo still hasn’t yanked Hux’s hand away from his throat, so it stays there, with Kylo groaning and squirming, his breath labored under the weight. 

Warmth is fire and fire is light and oh, there is so much of it as Kylo moves underneath him, unaware of how obscenely bright he looks. A little bit more spit, taken from his mouth, Kylo’s mouth, drawing out this feeling _(soft, so it hurts, kiss him again, whisper against his lips, make him shine)._

Kylo’s eyes are bright with tears and he’s close, so close. 

_(soft, remember)_

“Come on, Ben.” Hux murmurs, and Kylo comes (the light is sickeningly golden) with a sob. Only then, in the realm of shallow breaths and tears wet on light-stained cheeks, does Hux remove his hand from Kylo’s neck. He admires the bruises blossoming there, darkness blooming over that pretty paleness. Hux smiles.

_(soft, so it hurts)_


End file.
